


Sextacular

by sceal



Series: Sextacular [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creeper Derek, Derek Feels, Dubious Consent, Evil Peter, Explicit Sexual Content, Jackson is thwarted, M/M, Manpain, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, POV Stiles, Scott is a Good Friend in the end, Top Derek, Top Stiles Stilinski, Virgin Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceal/pseuds/sceal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' bad day just went from worse to weird. Yeah, alright, fine, Derek has many many many legitimate reasons for being the queen of manpain.  Still. It doesn’t give him a free pass on asshole behaviour like banishing the human and then, and then...  Okay. Intimidation, Stiles gets. Hell, from Derek? He expects it. Comes with package. Heh. Package. But like, lips, kissing? Just. Why would Derek...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles can’t see anything.  They’ve selfishly taken the fight upstairs but chants of “Derek, Derek, Derek!” are a big clue to who’s winning.  Which just proves his theory that life hates him.

Seriously. Boyd and Erica and Isaac and Jackson even! can watch and enjoy the massacre; if they receive any stray punches, they’ll heal before their dad asks awkward questions. One more time going home with a weird bruise and the Sheriff will spot the pattern.

And oh yeah, Scott’s probably gonna die.

“Guys!” Stiles tries. “Don’t kill him dead-dead!  Just like, mess him up a bit, if you have to.”

He should be inside at least cheering Scott on, but he’s not only stuck on the front porch because of his black eye.  No, he trusts the fire hazard Derek takes for a house to survive a werewolf brawl about as much as he trusts that Lydia will one day marry him and have all of his babies.

It’s a nice fantasy, but you just can’t count on the girl who keeps choosing Jackson over him to have good taste.

“Can’t you take it outside?  Please?” No, no begging. He tries lifting his chin and sniffing with hauteur.

It isn’t really his thing, so he kicks the doorframe.

The shafts of rotting wood barely vibrate.

Sheesh. He’s strong, his foot should've broken off the door. Loosened the hinges. At least made a louder bang.

 He lifts his foot to try again. Is that a hole? Dude he needs new shoes.

A new car too. New friends. A new life, basically.

But mostly new shoes. He leans down to inspect the missing piece of rubber- when did that happen?- and-

-he’s pinned, back rammed against the wall, his collar tightened by claws.

 Angry alpha claws. 

“Treat my house with respect,” Derek says, all up in his grill, no sweat, no bruises, no nothing, like he hasn’t been up to anything harder than counting sheepies in his head before nap time.  His requisite black shirt is only slightly shredded.  

“Right, like you do.  Hitting your house with people is the definition of respect.” Stiles gently pats the wall he’s pinned to, giving the planks of wood a little comfort, hopeful he won’t get splinters. “I bet he doesn’t say sorry to you either.  Tell me about it.”

Derek raises his shirt collar just enough that Stiles squeals. In a manly fashion. Still, it's a reasonable behaviour, considering his shoes no longer touch floor.

“Cut it out.” Derek, growly x 2.

 _Oh yeah, sure, anything for you, Derek, my lord and master._ Not. This is the most fun he’s had all morning. “No. Uh uh. I don’t think so.  Watch the shirt!”

Derek bares his teeth in what could never be mistaken for a smile, unless you were blind and had no friends or survival instincts.  Maybe if you were a rock. 

Nope, even that idiot rock would grow sturdy little stone-legs and run.   

“You don’t scare me,” Stiles says, proving he’s dumber than rocks. “You do, you totally do, but I’m bored. So bored I played ticktacktoe with myself. Not even on my phone.”

Stiles starts to pant a little.  He’s not turned on, it’s just that his present situation prevents, you know, breathing.

If anything, Derek looks meaner, his eyebrows drawn down and intent on eviiil.

This is it. 

He’s going to die.

Still a virgin, asphyxiated at the hands of a Hale who’s barely computer literate.  It’s not even a unique way to kick the bucket. 

His obituary will be about wasted potential, his dad won’t attend the funeral because Derek’ll kill him rather than get arrested. Derek’ll get Scott too, for sure. The werewolf responsible for their triple murder will roam free and Stiles won’t ever see a pair of breasts up close and in the flesh.

His last sight before breaching the pearly gates will be his murderer’s gloating face.  He’ll totally get into heaven though, being murdered has to be a horrible enough thing that it wipes outs all previous sins.  Except maybe that time he-

All of a sudden his lungs go from emptying to DANGER! Death is Imminent.

“Scott?” Stiles wheezes. “A little help?”

“It’s true,” Scott says to the others, because of course _now_ everyone is on the porch, watching Stiles get molested.

Attacked. Played with in a threatening way.

Scott, oblivious to the urgency of the situation, kneels down to where Stiles set up his game of ticktacktoe with sticks, rocks and leaves. “He lost. Or won. I guess it’s a tie.”

“My vision’s blurry,” Stiles admits.

“We eating him now?  He interrupted training,” Jackson says, he of the very helpful.

And that, works..? Because Derek lets go.

Stiles falls to the porch.

It cracks. Ominously, right where he landed.

He freezes, no breathing, even though he so wants to. 1, 2, 3, all is well, 4, 5.  

The wood resists caving in.  He gasps in sweet, sweet air. “You’re such a hypocrite,” deep breath, “panties all in a twist about,” air, air is good, “a little ding when you’re doing your best to break the whole building.” 

Derek snarls from above. “Leave.”

“Yeah, leave us,” Stiles croaks out.  “Derek and I need to re-establish some things.  Talk about bubbles. How big mine is, how big his is. When and how touching is appropriate. Oh that sounded dirty.”

He likes to think Derek folds his arms because he’s cold in the ripped black t-shirt he always wears and so probably never washes. The guy’s house is definitely low on washing machines and all other forms of electrical appliances, if not chains of doom. 

“You should put your hands beneath your pits.” Stiles shows by example from where he’s comfortably sitting. He’ll be ready to stand in hmmm, can he even feel his toes? Check. Standing will happen soon. “Like so. Survival skills I guess they skipped over in werewolf school, huh.” 

That t-shirt. Not hiding enough of the abs. Derek’s gonna have to buy a new one this time. Does he have others? Does Derek even wash them?  He must, he always smells good. But where does he do it, in the creak? Or a Laundromat.  The regulars must cringe every time Derek punches the quarter-giving-machine because it doesn’t accept his crinkled bills.

Not that Stiles takes his eyes off the angry predator’s chest, but in his peripheral vision there are trees and bored packmates. Leaning against things, squinting, sporting that dreamy I-miss-Allison look.  They’re not ansty yet, thank god, but bored.  Karma, biting them where the sun don’t shine. 

Except. For them the sun shines there all the time due to their oh-so-special ability to sprout fur.

Of course he starts picturing them naked.

Naked Derek, kill me now. 

See the thing with Derek is, the man needs to spend quality time lounging on a couch eating many many many bags of Cheetos.  Not just for Stiles’ peace of mind, it’s a matter of personal safety.  Derek’s.

Yep. Derek’s.

Derek probably gets muscle cuts all the time. Like paper cuts but worse. All those sharp ridges must be pointy when he towels himself off-wait, Derek doesn’t do that.  Probably doesn’t. He must shake himself off like a dog, unless he hides his towels wherever he hides his washing machine.

Naked Boyd, more of the same.

Naked Jackso-

Naked Erica.

Mmmmm. Or-

Hmmm. Hard to tell if the scary trumps the sexy or vice versa.

Derek snaps his fingers. “Earth to Stiles.”

“I want to keep Scott.” Scott’ll protect him if Derek tries to bite. “As a mediator. You other people frolic in the woods, kill some rabbits. Don’t bring me back their bones! Or at least rinse off the blood first, that’s just, that’s just mean.”

Derek kneels down so they’re eye-level. “Stiles.”

He wishes Derek hadn’t done that. Looking at the guy’s knees is much better for his heart rate than seeing that stupid face so up close and terrifying. “We doing this in front of an audience? Your funeral.  You see, _Derek_ , what we need is some ground rules. Number one, when Stiles is-”

“Leave.”

Out-rayy-geous! Dude, Derek has no pimples.  How does he keep his skin so healthy? Moisturiser? Does Derek moisturise? Where does he hide his collection of beauty ritual bottles? So many questions. “Whaaa..? Why?  You need me to get you some cream, don’t you. I’m not your errand boy.  I shouldn’t be. I can, I can…do things.  Muscle things.”

“You interrupted training.”

Stiles hopes Derek’s hamstrings burn hard from the drawn-out squat. “So?” 

“Training, Stiles. You can’t do that.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop.”

Derek shakes his head in his I-am-the-Alpha-I-get-the-final-word assholish way. “Go. Away.”

Stiles counts on Scott for backup but the traitor just shrugs. “But! You need me. I’m like your mascot.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Scott says.  “Your eye just stopped being that puke yellow colour.”

Derek doesn’t roll his stupid healthy eyes but his scorn for Scott’s softs ways is there. “We’re wasting time.”

“I see how it is.” Stiles holds the wall while he stands on his jelly legs. Ow, yep, that’s a splinter. “I’m a hot commodity, you’re all missing out. See if I help next time y’all need my contacts or one of your werewolf asses gets into trouble. And I-“

Erica growls at him and she’s frightening. All those teeth.

“I’m going, I’m going.”

He only trips twice on the way to his jeep.

He spits out a few dead leaves, hops up, and is relieved to find his keys in his jeans’ front pocket.  Jumping back out to search the ground on hands and knees would've ruined his already shaky exit.

Not that it matters, no one’s on the porch.  All gone, without even a guilty wave from Scott. 

The house looks dead or, right, nice, the pack’s already back at it, because now the house looks like it’s on a hospital bed having a violent seizure. Right before it expires. It is dead, a zombie house that only accepts stupid zombie people who obey their stupid zombie leader.

So.

A beautiful Saturday morning and he’s just been freaken’ exiled. What’s he supposed to do now?

           

Turns out, the answer is not shopping with Lydia.  She says no, even when he knows Jackson is with Scott because Derek stole Scott.  Kindergarten, all over again.

So he does the next best thing.

He shops with Danny. Which is not really the next best thing, lots of girls, a few boys- if Robin needed a Batman for instance- and activities trump Danny and shopping, but at least Danny doesn’t mope about Allison or snarl.

He does have ridiculous pecs.  They’re browsing between two aisles filled to overflowing capacity with computer games when the idea hits him. “Danny, do you work out?  We should work out together.”

“Not a good idea.”

Aha! Dude doesn’t want to get a boner at the sight of Stiles all sweaty.  “I knew you thought I was hot.”

Danny keeps scanning _Portal 2_. “No, you’d feel inadequate.”

“Huh. I was sure- but you’re right. I should stick to what I know.”

This merits eye-contact. “I hate to ask but what do you mean?”

“My charm. And stuff.”

“Ah.” Annnd Danny’s attention is back on the DVD jacket.

“Don’t you “ah” me. I’m a catch.  I’ve only ever tried with one girl- no, woman- because I have impeccable taste.  Fine, no one’s ever come on to me but I am the dude but this is the 21st century so.  Do you think-? I’m a catch?”

Danny rolls his eyes and shrugs which is just mixed signals. “I think that’s your cousin.”

Stiles does a 180, rubbing his neck where there is a sudden phantom pain that feels awfully like this morning’s Derek imposed slight suffocation. “I don’t ha-Miguel. Cousin.”

Derek’s lurking just outside the store –Mr. Rap Sheet, afraid of nerds?- and now he’s nodding his head toward the mall’s main hallway and pointing at Stiles.  The guy’s pretty pushy for someone who exiled him this morning. 

His t-shirt looks the same except there are no claw shaped holes. Derek must have scrounged for a sewing kit and dutifully fixed it with a needle and thread. Like a grandma.

At the end of _Little Red Riding Hood_.  The newer animated movie with the extreme sports grandma. Oh, Grandma Derek is showing his big teeth, and yep, claws. Those are claws! Here, in the public space that is the mall.

Stiles thinks about ignoring the zombie master’s summons for like a second. “I’ll be right back.  Hopefully.”  

Streams of innocent shoppers stroll by, completely unaware that they have a killer werewolf in their midst.  Actually, kind of aware, no one’s walking in Derek Hale’s huge-ass bubble.

Not huge ass-bubble. Like, not his butt. Just his giant personal space that gives him a free pass into everyone else’s personal spa- _moving on, Stiles, moving on_. “The pack lasted an hour without me? ’M not surprised.  People always underestimate the mascot.”

“Shut up.”

Coming from Derek, it’s not curt, it’s just the limit of his vocabulary.

“What is it? You need me to hold you in a pool? Or, my personal favorite, cut off your arm? I really, really regret Scott walking in when he did,” Stiles gulps. “Not that I would’ve done it,” he gulps again. “Unless you wanted me to.”

“You can’t come to my house anymore.” Like that’s some kind of punishment.

“Well, good.” Except it sort of feels like one. A punishment. Huh, he actually grew attached to the haunted house with its creepy woods. Time to see the guidance counselor again. Even though he’s tired of her Winston Churchill quotes and hasn’t anyone else noticed it’s weird that she doubles as a shrink? “What, ever? No visits?” Except she’ll put him in the loony bin right away because to get at his deep emotional problems he’ll have to mention his mythological asshole friends. Unless- “Do they have werewolf shrinks?

“Stiles. Focus.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles waves his hand. “I’m banned from the premises. You better expect a rebellion on your hands, Boyd and Isaac love me. We totally hang out behind your back.” He should feel ashamed for telling such lies, but this is war.

“Funny, that’s not the impression I got when we voted.”

“Um, what?”

“It was unanimous. The “Bye Bye Stiles” motion passed.”

Stiles doesn’t even ask where Derek learned that big word. “Scott?”

Derek nods.

“Seriously? Seriously. You guys want the former kanima- who killed billions of innocent people, the entire police station!-  but you don’t want me.”

“You’re human.”

“Exactly! Jackson’s a super cool werewolf and still I’d choose me.”

“We all agreed.”

“I didn’t! Since when do you turn your dictatorship into a democracy? Huh? This has been an all-around shit day. You guys are just, you guys are just a bunch of racists!”

“Do you want to be a werewolf?”

“Hell no!” Stiles realises what just happened. “You would, you- what if I’d said yes? You would’ve just given me the bite?”

Derek leans in. “Not even if you begged me on your knees.”

“Like oral sex?” It would totally be worth it. “Tell me true now, if I gave you a super trooper blow job, the works, paying attention to your balls, swallowing, everything, you still wouldn’t do it?  Wait, is that what everyone else had to do? ‘Cos that’s abuse of power, right there.  Like there was on the vote. I bet it was rigged. No, I’m sure of it.”

Derek’s werewolf sensibilities are scandalized. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t mind me,” Danny says, raising his bag of purchases like a shield, face carefully blank, yeah, he heard everything, “just passing through.”

“Oh dude, it’s not what it looks like.” Stiles tries to smile but his mouth muscles hurt worse than his neck did earlier. Being around Derek is bad for his health, maybe that’s why he had that horrible cold last month. “Just one of those hypothetical conversations that go in weird directions, like when you start talking about gladiators and end up wondering why people ever did the Olympics naked. All those dangly bits had to get in the way. Do you know that’s how it started? With the Greeks?”

Derek and Danny stare at him.

“I guess it’s more of a personal thing.  So-o. Danny. Danny-boy. What d’you get?”

Danny ignores Stiles in favour of Stupid Wolf Face. “It was nice seeing you again Miguel, but I have to go.”

“Later, dude.” Stiles waits until Danny turns the corner. “Look, you want me to be quiet, I’ll be quiet, let’s just consider this a warning. I don’t have to come and interrupt the sacred training, but what about our plans? My dad’s old TV, movie nights.”

If Stiles isn’t mistaken- and he could be, maybe Derek’s just constipated- this finally makes Derek uncomfortable. “It would mess with pack dynamics.”

Wow. 

This is exactly like being rejected.  By a bunch of werewolves.  If they don’t want him, who will-no. Derek’s being stupid today, he’ll cool down, change his mind.

 _Just humor the werewolf, Stiles._ “After all this? I get-? I was the perfect sidekick.  I deserve the gold medal of sidekickness.”

Oops.

Derek’s doesn’t even blink, his life motto is probably _Suck It Up_ or, _Kill And Kill Harder_. “I need to stop by your house.”

“Ha! If I can’t go to yours, you can’t come to mine, suckah.  Hadn’t thought of that, huh. What’ll you do when you need a new t-shirt or a place to lie-low or some quality Stiles time? Nothing. That’s what.”

“You done?”

“’I'm not even close to done. You think rich boy Jackson’s gonna let y-“

“The pack still wants the T.V.  Plan B is to send Scott.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Stiles uses the quiet drive to his house to think strategy.  No distractions.  It isn’t like Derek’s suddenly gonna burst out into song. 

Stiles has something the pack wants. They have something he wants.  A T.V. in exchange for… friendship? 

Seriously?

Stiles is worth more than a T.V. Or then a better quality one.

No, no bargain, he’ll give them the T.V.  The pack will watch _The Young And The Restless_ and think of him, feeling guilty for how they betrayed him, bawling their little wolf hearts out.

Yeah.  Like that’s gonna happen.

It should work on Scott though, and really, he’s the one Stiles expected to stand up for him.

Life stretches out before him, grim.

He’ll spend the rest of his time on Earth alone or with Danny until Danny gets sick of him, which won’t take long, Danny’s a hard man to please, and one fine day, one of the Hale pack’s enemies will rip him to bits because they won’t have gotten the memo explaining how Stiles and the pack aren’t buddies anymore.  He’ll have no werewolves to help fend off… a sexy yet sadistic strawberry-blond haired witch. 

His life is gonna suck loads and loads but it’ll be blessedly short.

He parks in his driveway, in a really blue mental place.

He can’t help but notice Derek’s not rushing out of the car either.

Maybe this is when they’ll have their moment. 

Derek’s gruff, _“you know, Stiles, I’m protecting my pack right now in my usual incompetent fashion and being a selfish green-faced-bobo, but you’re an all right guy.”_

Except without the bobo part. Derek probably won’t cop up to selfishness either. Still. Stiles twirls his fingers and patiently contemplates the roof of his car. 

Not much to look at. Maybe he should put some stickers up there in case this exact situation happens again. Yeah, his Pokémon stickers. They’ve just been lying around gathering dust anyways.

Not.

As if he’d let any dust ruin his sticker collection.

Derek isn’t saying anything. Not even something insulting.

Fine. Fine.

Stiles can start. “Soo.  Derek. That’s a nice name.” This is hard. “You uh, uh-“

“I’m waiting for you to get the T.V.”

“Hell no. You’re carrying it.”

“Fine.”  Derek slams the door.

“Fine,” Stiles mimics underneath his breath, jumping out too. 

“I can hear you.”

Stiles unlocks the front door and drops his keys on the table. “Bully for you. In an alternate universe, I could’ve been born the werewolf.  I would’ve been nice to puny human Derek, if he was less of a tool than you.”

Derek grabs his collar and shoves him into a wall.

“Ow, ow.  Cupboard, digging into my back.” Stiles sighs. “You’re so predictable, dude. You need new moves.” Does Derek ever use his eyes for a purpose other than intimidating those smaller and weaker than him? “I dunno, trip me, or threaten to dislocate my shoulder. Poison my food, if I’m hungry. Wait there’s no if about it, just poison my food. Good food, now, it’s gonna be my last meal so the least you could do is-”

Derek leans in, all threatening. “You have no idea how tempted I am.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles sniffs his breath, since Derek’s face is right there, breathing on Stiles' chin. “Did you eat cinnamon? That’s a weird spice to put on your meat.” Stiles shakes his head. “You and your wolves are gonna perish without me.  Perish.”

“Scott’s not here.  You really want to push me?”

“Now why would I stop? Pushing you feels pretty good from where I’m standing.”

Derek stares at him long enough that his silence forces Stiles to reconsider his words.

“In a completely non-sexual way. Just a relief of tension- non-sexual tension!- kind of a figurative pushing.  I mean if I was gonna be gay, you’d be in my top 10, based on looks.  Personality, though, uh. You’d be in my top ten 10 for looks.”

Derek finally releases him. “Where’s the T.V.?”

Stiles catches his balance, adjusting his shirt. “My bedroom.”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

Stiles laughs. “It’s not like I planted it there to lure you upstairs. It _is_ where you tend to end up though, you gotta admit.  My bedroom.  Should I be reading something into that? You’re pretty much the Edward to my Bella, spying on me while I sleep.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but it’s disturbing.”

Right, Derek doesn’t know about the internet. Good, Derek doesn’t realize what Stiles copped up to. He’d just wanted to know what the hype was about and before he knew it was 5 A.M. and he was already on the last page of _Breaking Dawn_ and well.  That’s in the past now.

Stiles lifts his hands. Not surrendering! Just fed up.  “Here, how about this.  As a parting gesture, I’ll stay in the kitchen, that way you can be sure your virtue is safe.”

Stiles takes it as a yes when Derek races up the stairs.

 Tonight’s gonna be epic.  If he does it right, he’ll break the scale tomorrow. Mmmm, yeah, chips, brownies, ice cream-

“Stiles!”

He puts his haul down on the counter, reaches for the package of Oreos. “I’m busy!”

“Come here.”

Stiles sighs and takes the stairs two at a time. “What?”

Derek stands in the middle of his bedroom for the last time.  Maybe Stiles should take a picture, immortalize the moment. “Where’s the T.V.?”

Aha!  Something werewolf senses can’t magically detect on their own. “Under the bed.”

Stiles makes sure Derek hasn’t stolen anything for like a creepy memento while Derek fetches the T.V.  The computer and his comic collection are accounted for so he should be good.

Except Derek isn’t fetching the T.V., he’s just standing there. 

Looking weird.

Very weird.  His face is all…blank?

“So,” Stiles says. “This is goodbye, huh? No more creeping into my house, I’ll stay away from yours.  Sure, we’ll see each other when you need me for bait, but it won’t be the same.”

No comment.

And suddenly it’s too much and this day isn’t even funny anymore.

“I hate goodbyes,” Stiles says. “They suck.  You suck. Just take the T.V., ok?”

Derek walks toward him, aiming for …

A hug!?

Naaah.

A handshake?  Please not something that involves pushing Stiles into a wall.

Stiles backs up a step. “I can carry the T.V. To the jeep or without the jeep and just trek it all the way to your house, help set it up if you want without using any words or my voice at all, no need to, please let’s not-”

“I’ll regret this,” Derek says, cryptic, when usually he likes to be upfront with his threats.

Derek kisses him. On the mouth.

And all Stiles can think is THIS IS A NEW MOVE!!!

Caps letters, 3 exclamation points in his head.

\+ whatisderekdoingwhyishedoingthisidon’tunderstand.

Sucker! So much for 16,17, and never been kissed! Finally. Why hasn’t he just grabbed someone and gotten it over with.

It’s not hard.  Easy even, watch for the noses, a little pressure on the lips.  Pleasant.  It’ll be even better with a girl but this is nice. 

But yeah, kissing a girl won’t happen anytime soon because Stiles is just gonna keep his lips here forever, not because he wants to, or yes he wants to, but not because it’s romantic or hot but because he knows deep in his bones if he stops the kiss first Derek will deck him.

Look what he did when Stiles interrupted training.

Stiles can’t interrupt kissing.

So Stiles will keep his lips right here until Derek’s ready to stop.  Any second now.

Derek’s lips are a bit chapped and Stiles is briefly happy that the only place their bodies are touching is the lips. A first kiss is one thing, it’ll be a funny story to tell Scott or Lydia or everyone because Stiles can’t keep a secret. ‘Course, Derek’s a pretty big incentive to shut his mouth.

To do lots of things with his mouth. But just mouth things, first base. That’s it.

Derek takes his lips about the distance of two vertical _Lay’s_ chips away, the unseasoned no ruffles kind, so yeah, their mouths are still pret-ty close.

And it all happened so fast Stiles hasn’t closed his eyes.  Was he supposed to close his eyes? Derek had closed his but now they’re open so Stiles closes his. Tight. Tightly shut eyes.

“You don’t like it,” Derek says practically into Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles blushes. It’s just. Yeah. “Uh. Course I, course I like it. See?”

Stiles starts the kiss again, really hoping this will avoid him pain and death and being bitten.  Biting! Maybe if he opens his mouth Derek will be appeased and get the message that Stiles thinks he’s a good kisser and there will be no death.

So Stiles does that.

Very awkward, because Derek doesn’t reciprocate.

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Derek says, this time really into Stiles mouth, Stiles can feel the vibrations against his tongue, almost.

Blushing. “Could I uh ask you the same question?”

“No.”

 Alright then! “I, I was just really, really into it.”

“Uhun.  Stiles?”

This isn’t going to be good. How can it be good? “Yes, Derek?”  Should he mention that speaking into each other’s mouth doesn’t make it easier to hear?

“I’m leaving.  If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

“Seriously?!” Stiles can’t help that from slipping out. “I thought we were getting somewhere, you know, to a place where there are no more death threats.”

Derek laughs a little, a first, though Stiles is distracted by completely freaking out over the crazy other thing Derek did for the last two minutes to properly appreciate it.  “Sex doesn’t make death threats go away.”

“One, scary, what a thing to say to the guy you- the guy you, two, kiss! Not sex. Barely a kiss.”

“Goodbye.” Derek tries to back away, but can’t.  _Wasn’t expecting that, werewolf, were you._ Derek looks pointedly down. “Let. Go.”

Yeah, yeah, big deal, Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist when the guy tried to escape. “I’m thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shhh.”  Derek is leaving for good.  Derek was leaving then kissed him now he’s leaving again. “You want to have sex. With _me_?”

Derek’s answer is quick. “No.”

 _‘Course he wants to have sex with you, Stiles, who knows why, but he does, he wouldn’t have kissed you if he didn’t, he’s a dude, a werewolf dude, more on the basic primal urges side of the spectrum than touchy-feely stuff_. Plus he’s Derek. Derek with primal urges. For Stiles.

“You smell scared,” Derek notes, almost clinically, like his dentist’s “you have three cavities”.

“If you laugh I’ll... do something really bad,” Stiles says. “So: I’ve never done this before.”

Derek isn’t laughing. His mouth is one grim line. “I know.”

“Not just sex, but never, anything.”

It’d be nice if Derek acted more surprised. 

Stiles might’a been doing things, it’s not just a foregone conclusion based on his, on his, ugh. “And being born human, sometimes I have to process things before- All these thoughts rush in- like, when did you brush your teeth last, Stiles? and, What would dad say if he knew? and well that.  Those were the two thoughts.”

“Interesting.” Derek means the opposite. “All I’m thinking about is sucking your cock.”

“Really,” Stiles aims for nonchalant but it comes out a high-pitched question. Kissing didn’t do it for him, but damn if his cock isn’t getting hard, just at the mental picture of Derek with his head, and his lips, wrapped around, oh god.

Stiles lets go of Derek as if he were Jackson, Peter and Gerard wrapped into one horrible, horrible creature.

His fingers are sweaty and there are too many buttons on his shirt, but wait, he doesn’t need to undo them all, stupid! He gets caught in the sleeves trying to throw the thing over his head, trips when he pulls down his jeans but somehow lands on the bed, keeping his, oh thank god, standard blue boxers on to preserve a little air of mystery.

He goes to splay himself on the bed enticingly, lying on his side with an arm holding up his head, legs crossed- shit, he still has his socks on. “Just give me a… Sorry.” He pulls them off and throws them far from him but now he just feels awkward so he sits.

Takes a deep breath.

Derek, meanwhile, hasn’t moved. Hasn’t left, but isn’t magnetically glued to Stiles either. Is still dressed.

Still… Derek.

Stiles tries not to let his mind think of anything, have any thoughts, because then it’ll break. His mind will just explode and break.  So no thinking, just doing.

He pats the empty space on the bed, words completely beyond him.

Okay, good? Derek is pulling his shirt and jeans off. Sits on the edge of the bed, in his boxers too, black, obviously, and their nakedness is no different than what would happen when you’re swimming with a guy, they’re wearing more clothes even than guys showering in the locker room after lacrosse.

Derek stands up. “We don’t have to do this.”

Stiles finds he has some words left. “Yeah, we do. I mean, you said. Please?”

“I can smell you,” Derek says. “I know your dick wants to.”

“You gotta trust that werewolf sense of smell. Never lies.”

Derek nods.

Stiles has a second to be terrified before Derek straddles him.  This is a weird angle to see him from, a new angle, lots of new moves today, but the friction is amazing and Derek leans down and this is a kiss.

A real kiss, with Derek pinning his arms above his head which is stupidly sexy, or so Stiles’ cock insists, and Stiles’ eyes fall closed and there is tongue and teeth.

Which is somehow good? Stiles wouldn’t expect it to be but it is, so much so that when Derek lifts his mouth Stiles whimpers. A little. And pulls his arms out of Derek’s grasp and rolls them around until Derek’s below him and their legs are tangled and Stiles can kiss Derek, and push against him like that, and ohmygod is Derek grinning, against his mouth?

Derek still tastes like cinnamon and smells like forest and feels very much like man but that’s just the physical, inside, Stiles is powerless to stop the stream of thoughts, like,

_Oh god I want to suck his cock too? Why do I want to do that? Only if he does it first. I still can’t believe, the boxers have to go. Now._

And he feels wanted and he wants and the two together never happened to him before, ever, and he pulls down his boxers and Derek’s. Naked penis, lots of naked penis. Oh fuck it, Stiles can give the first blow job, but Derek says, “Greedy,” and that makes Stiles realise how quiet they’re being otherwise except for the gasps and is that normal and Derek flips them over to be on top.

Then Derek fulfils his promise, with his tongue and his mouth and it feels, it feels, it almost hurts, it’s sharp and not enough, like jerking off cranked up to a million except someone’s doing things to him and he’s doing things back, or he will be, right now he can’t, just, oh fuck.

Derek lifts his head and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are barely tinged with red but Stiles is still flattered. And then, what the fuck, Derek knows where his lube is? Of course Derek knows where his lube is, the creeper.

And this feels real, like a sharp burst of reality in an otherwise really, really awesome dream but the sharpness could be from the finger Derek shoves up his ass. Not shoves, not shoves, but. Stiles takes a breath and adjusts his expectations to okay, this is not just first base or third base, it’s gonna be a home-run.

With that thought in mind, Stiles lifts his head to lick Derek’s nipple so they don’t skip any bases.

And then there are two. Fingers, greasy fingers, up his ass, and it’s weird and Derek’s putting on a- Derek was so sure of himself he brought a condom? That wrapper’s the wrong colour to be from Stiles’ never been used emergency supply except that one time he wasted 3 condoms practising how to put them on because he’d you know, pretty freaken’ firmly believed that it was going to be his dick going into someone else, rather than. 

If Stiles wasn’t so turned on it would be even weirder but then Derek leans their foreheads together. And says, “it’ll feel better if you jerk yourself off,” and Stiles says, “you think?” and he picks up with his fist where Derek left off with his mouth so his dick’s already nice and wet, while Derek removes his fingers and thrusts. His cock in Stiles’ ass.

It’s uh, it’s intense.

It feels very, very close. Open and tight at the same time. And then kissing, kissing is good, and then what the fuck, “was that?” and Derek doesn’t answer but he hits it again and it’s too fucking much and Stiles is coming.  Really Stiles is impressed he lasts this long.

Just, all over Derek and himself and Derek licks him and that’s, that’s fucking sexy. And Stiles keeps with the kissing because he knows how now and mmmm, isn’t ever gonna stop and it feels weirdly good to have Derek so close and Derek is coming and the kiss continues.

 

Blinking super super fast doesn’t make Derek disappear with a loud pop which means there is no fairness in the world, and gives Stiles a headache. Why couldn’t he have had a migraine half an hour ago? Because, that, that would’ve stopped things.

Stiles could’ve said, “Oh no I have zee headache. Can’t. Let’s put our dicks back in our boxers and in our jeans and why don’t we find ourselves chastity belts because did I mention zee headache?” except without the French accent.  If Derek is like normal people he would’ve only been more turned on. 

But Derek isn’t normal people, not even normal werepeople, proof positive: he wants to have sex with Stiles. Or wanted to, 30 minutes ago. Or he had sex with Stiles regardless of his intentions.

Stiles starts when his bed hitches beneath him because Derek sighs and Derek, Derek is on his bed. With him. On the bed together. Just you know, chilling. Nothing weird here.

Derek’s profile stresses Stiles out -even his nose seems smugly phallic shaped- so Stiles eyes his desk and wonders how soon it will be okay to interrupt their post sex non-cuddle, put pjs on, throw Derek out the window, and have a little cry.

 “Stop panicking,” Derek says, his voice darker than death and thick, but not as thick, glistening and hard as- Derek is a werewolf! Teeth! Sharp! Used to chewing, _chewing_ raw flesh. How could Stiles have let those canines anywhere near his family jewels let alone, let alone…

Bad, oh this is bad.

“Can’t. Too late. Unngh. Lydia is never gonna have sex with me now. This? This is your fault.” Stiles doesn’t care that bemoaning missed future sex opportunities with a person different from the one he is in bed with is awkward to do like, right now.

Except Derek becomes quiet. A tense kind of quiet, which Stiles knows from experience means he’s gonna get hit with a steering wheel any second now- but Derek won’t find a steering wheel in his bedroom, but he could use the surfboard. Thank god his dad keeps the guns in the study.

“Sorry,” Stiles backpedals as fast he can. “Bad form to you know, say that, but still, Derek, still! Lydia of the sun-caressed hair, Lydia of the strawberry-blond locks- not that your hair isn’t pretty, it is, actually, it’s got a kind of prince of darkness appea-stopping. I am stopping.”

 Stiles closes his eyes and cringes, raising his hands to protect the face.

No hard objects come his way, just, “You’d rather have stayed a virgin forever.”

“Hey! Okay, maybe Lydia wouldn’t have, you know, been the one to-“ blushing, because Derek had been the one to.

And had he.

Derek had- and then he’d- and then they’d-

Damning evidence aside, Stiles doesn’t swing that way, but he’ll talk to Danny, put in a good word.  Someone should be getting a lil’ somesome out of Derek’s mad sexskills.

And maybe Stiles will ask for pointers first about the whole BJ thing, in case the Lydia thing is still on the table and she wants a few ideas on how to-

This isn’t working.

Not when the dude, guy, person with a penis, who’s just delivered Stiles’ first BJ like an angry UPS man- oooh, Derek in brown short shorts- and followed that up with a package of buttsex, breathes steadily beside him in the semi-darkness, thinking cryptic thoughts, almost close enough to touch.  Fine, close enough to touch, so close that Stiles has to lean a bit off his single size mattress to avoid touching.

No Lydia, no Danny, just Derek and Stiles and Derek doing things to Stiles and his throat, his Adam’s apple, bobbing so indecent.

The manpecks are still annoying.  They make Stiles feel levels of inadequacy that a lifetime gym membership won’t cure but Derek’s lips are probably forever and ever amen associated with happy thoughts.

Blushing again.

 Which, okay, if he turns in the opposite direction and raises his hand like this, yep, Derek can’t see his cheeks, not the cheeks on his face.

What had he been talking about, right, the virgin thing. “Someone would’ve wanted a piece of this fine specimen of male physique. You know, at college. Yeah, there. Unless I die before I get there which will be your fault too. So. You should apologize. To me. Right now.”

“I didn’t cut your dick off.”

This is what blind terror feels like. Parts of his body shrivel up protectively like they never have before unless waist deep in freezing ocean. “And I’m so very grateful. Please let’s not do that.”

“You can still use it.”

“Like, right now?”  Stiles isn’t irritated on account of the I’m-not-gay thing-which is true, he’s not-, more like, sure Stiles is 17, at his sexual peak, but even 17-year-old guys need a time-out in order to recuperate. Plus, his ass aches and his dick is overly-sensitive.

What with all the licking and sucking and fucking.

Even that thought only gets his dick half-hard. Wait, is Derek raring to go? Stiles peeks, as sneakily as he can.

Against the backdrop of blue sheets that never witnessed anything more exciting than Stiles solo-pleasuring to embarrassingly softcore porn, lies a naked Derek, arms leisurely stretched out and supporting his head, like he is completely at peace with this hiccup or natural disaster- depending on your perspective, Stiles leans towards natural disaster himself- in their relationship as frenemies. 

With his show-off oh-look-at-me! abs. Down the trail of dark hair, past the bellybutton, nestled in blacks pubes is a soft little- scratch that: big, a soft big cock.

Ha. Mr. Werewolf Alpha Man isn’t hard again yet but Stiles is.

Stiles is on his way to hard.

Wait a second.

Is that insulting?

Derek’s dick should be rock-hard whenever Stiles is near. Stiles glares at it, willing it to rise. _Come on, come on, admit you find me attractive._

Out of nowhere, Derek grabs his chin and aims it so it’s pointing at his face. Stupid penis-shaped-nose-that-isn’t-really-shaped-like-a-penis is easier to ponder than say, Derek’s lips. Or eyes. “With other people. What are you doing?”

The digits digging into his chin make it hard to talk, not the least because they smell like his come and those fingers have been places. “What am I doing with other people? I dunno. Depends on the people. Scott mostly talks about Allison. Boyd’s cool, Isaac still creeps me out, not as much as you do, but ‘m not buying his nice-guy routine so ‘m not doing anything with him, even though Erica said she liked me that one time she doesn’t exactly-“ Derek impolitely replaces the fingers burrowing into his chin with a full-on hand, covering his mouth.

“No.” Derek’s teeth clench down hard. Grind together, almost. “I meant. One fuck didn’t damage you, you can still use your dick with other people. And. Stop checking out my cock.”

Oh. God.

Er, Stiles, means Good. Oh, good. As in, glad they got that cleared up. Seriously, Derek saying the word cock only turns him on a tiny tiny bit.

Stiles nods, trying to exude agreement.  It must work, because Derek takes his hand away.

Stiles stretches his jaw, making sure everything is in order. “I just meant some girls aren’t too keen on sexing guys who’ve- Once you’ve gone gay, you can’t really go back when you’re a dude.”

“Vinegar.”

“Excuse me? That an old-fashioned expression? Like “aw shucks” or “sugar” or  “ain’t you a fine filly”?”

“You won’t smell like me if you use it.”

“Aha. No one will know. I’ll be a born again virgin in no time. Got some downstairs.  Be right back.” Stiles stands and his body is a-okay with that. He takes a step.

Whoa. Ow.

He falls back on the mattress. The mattress is good, the mattress is comfortable. “On second thought, there’s no rush. Only person around here is my dad, when he finishes his shift at like midnight.  No imminent werewolf noses to worry about.” Stiles’ laugh is sadly awkward.

The bed rises a fraction when Derek gets up.  He heads towards the hallway, sashaying his naked unsore ass. If grim alphas can be said to sashay.  An Erica turned alpha would pull it off.

Derek has more this confident strut. Like a peacock.

“Where are you going?” Stiles yells. Derek might be hungry on account of Stiles exhausting him, and he could wolf down all his snacks. Heh. Pun. “Couldn’t you put pants on? Boxers? A shirt?  Even one of mine, you get a free-pass on stretching it. Seriously. Think about the neighbours.”

No response. Is that a cupboard opening? Derek’s in the kitchen. “You can have the chips but stay away from the freezer! The ice cream is mine. Mine!”

Stiles refuses to question the desperation in his voice, pistachio ice cream is at stake.

He sits – he’s going to have to douse his entire bedroom with vinegar, the whole house if Derek keeps exploring it, reeking of sex- rises, and takes a few steps.

On a scale of 1 to 10, the pain’s a 3.5. But it’s inconveniently situated. In the mirror, it looks like his butt swallowed a broomstick.

Soundless naked Derek returns, bearing the gift of a gallon of vinegar. Derek drops the container on the desk and dons his clothes with military efficiency. “Use it quickly. Allison’s on her period so Scott might show up.”

After that lovely tidbit, Derek grabs the T.V. and leaves, gone before Stiles can figure out if that was a joke, because Allison and Scott are still in the off part of their on and off _amour_.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Three

Stiles is the king of compartmentalization.  Dude that’s a long word.  Problem, what problem?

He only slips up once when he gets this urge to call Scott and say “Guess what? I had sex with Derek Hale last night! He fucked me in the bum!” but it quickly passes.

He does yard work.  Okay, not really, if he did, dad would think he needed hard cash for a drug addiction or that he’d broken the dishwasher again.  And well, his ass twinges worse than yesterday.   He tried applying an ice pack this morning but that was just. No.

So he looks at outside from his bedroom window, which is not brooding -he doesn’t even know what the word _brooding_ means-, because he comes up with some ideas to give his dad on how to spruce up their yard. 

He does call Scott, repeatedly, until Scott agrees to hang out with him after school tomorrow because this is the worst weekend in the history of the world. Not because of the non-issue.  Just. He’s bored.

So it’s finally dark –since when is he excited about Monday mornings?- and he’s playing _Minecraft_ with like 3 cushions on the already padded computer chair, in nothing but his oldest, rattiest, softest cotton boxers.

When his window creaks open he can’t believe it.

Derek Hales has fucking balls of steel showing up here tonight.

Stiles tries to ignore the pink elephant in the room. Oh jeez a were-elephant would be terrifying. He shudders while he keeps killing trees, no reason to stop playing just because-

 The floor cracks a tiny bit and he’s hyperaware of everything and is this what being a werewolf is like all the time? He can even hear quiet-Derek footsteps so he knows the man is right behind him.

“What’s the point of the game?” Derek has the gall to ask.

Stiles pivots on his chair. His ball of angry extinguishes like the flame of a candle, so it’s like, a waxy sphere shaped angry with a wick in it.  Because Derek is clearly thinking about- it’s there in his eyes, so now of course Stiles is thinking about-.

Yes.  There’s the anger he needs.  “I’m ignoring you.”

“I was too rough?”

“No! You weren’t too- it was great. Fantastic. I can take roughness. Not that I want to, now.”

Derek nods a little.

His brain is about to implode from all the thoughts he’s trying not to have so he focuses on the basics. “Just. Our houses are supposed to be these big no-no zones.  You’re cheating.”

Derek sits down on his bed and that is not a good sign.  He takes off his shirt and throws it on the floor and that is even worse and then he has the nerve to lean back.  Except wait, there’s a healing slash on his left pec about the length of a spoon, or any standard shaped utensil, really. It’s on the gruesome side of wide.

“Did Scott give you that?”

Derek lifts an eyebrow. “Scott?”

“Like, accidentally, of course he never woulda landed a blow on his mighty alpha.”

The wound is healing, more than halfway gone already, looks like an extra long paper cut, annnd gone, disappeared, so now all Stiles is staring at is healthy naked manchest.

And fuck, Stiles’ brain apparently rewired during his sleep so now chiseled man-abs are not just irritating, he knows that touching them leads to things feeling really good.

It’s not that he likes all that skin with no boobs, it’s pavlovian, except without the repeated training... An association! A simple mathematical equation: Derek’s naked chest + my naked chest = not bad, not bad at all.

Still. Stiles decides to be upfront with his wants. “We’re not doing this.”

Derek looks down at Stiles’ hard cock for no more than a split-second, but he has to be getting an eyeful because Stiles’ boxers have extra holes in them.

 Derek lifts his eyes to Stiles’ face, no embarrassment, nods, which should make Stiles feel listened to and respected and all that other lovely Oprah crap, except Derek doesn’t move any other part of his body.  Like, he does not leave, put a shirt on or at least stop with the leaning.

“Don’t look at my dick,” Stiles says. “It’s not the boss of me.”

Derek.  Derek is still. Fuck. 

Stiles sucks at this.

Derek is just too… too there.

In the flesh.  So much skin.

“Fine. Fine! But don’t you dare get smug about this.  And we’re using lots of lube. So much lube. My ass is- you weren’t too rough for me! But lots of –whatareyoudoing?” his voice cracks.

Because the second after Stiles says his first “fine”, almost the second before, Derek starts undressing so fast that Stiles feels really good about himself- sex with Derek is great for his self-esteem- and soon Derek’s naked and awesomely hard, yep, that’s an erection, wait, OhMyGod now Derek’s on all fours.

…

Um.

Derek’s on all fours, with his ass in the freaken’ air, like some kind of, some kind of…

He’s uh, he’s probably not inspecting the sheets, sheets Stiles changed before he went to bed last night.  

Does this mean-? No. No, it can’t- Derek must be like striking the cat yoga pose or stretching or-“Um?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Derek says, sarcastic.

And suddenly Stiles’ ass feels fine.  Magically cured.

A smile splits his face.  He’d never even considered, never even thought…

Oh yeah.  This is gonna be awesome!

Stiles is glad that he’s barely wearing anything so he’s condommed up and the bottle of lube is close at hand in no time at all.  In the moments it takes him to set up he can’t keep his eyes from edging back to the freaking amazing view.

Derek’s muscles cord in this really beautiful way and his ass is just mmmm.

Stiles knows that speed is of the essence here because what if Derek changes his mind?  He kneels behind Derek on the bed and just does it. 

Not it, it! Jeez. Give him some credit. He slowly thrusts a lubed finger up to the knuckles and fuck it’s tight. Soon he’s got the second finger in and Derek’s being really tense and quiet.

So Stiles tries for a joke. “Are you gonna kill me if I come too fast?”

“Yes.”

It’s hard to take a werewolf seriously when you’re uh, doing what Stiles is doing to him, but Stiles tries not to let on.

“K. ‘M doing this.” Stiles holds his cock and sorta slides it in as slowly as he can, into a heat that’s fucking tight and feels, so, sooo good.

Things get fuzzy at this point.

Derek makes this noise, between a sigh and a growl, and he impales himself on Stiles’ cock and that is definitely encouraging and also feels like everything that is happy and good with the world.

Stiles remembers how Derek kept hitting this sweet spot last night, so he adjusts his angle a little with every thrust and he’s just about given up hope on ever pwning Derek at sex because it’s getting difficult to focus on anything except THIS IS AMAZING! when from Derek’s mouth escapes this tiny delicate moan.

Derek buries his face into the pillow before Stiles hits the spot again but it’s too late, Stiles heard it.

This heat wraps around his body except it comes from the inside and it wants to build into something huge and he just can’t believe Derek is letting him do this to him, that Derek, Derek! wants him this much.

So he reaches beneath their bodies and wraps his fist tight around Derek’s cock and starts pumping.  His fist is sweaty enough that he doesn’t need anything else, but the head of Derek’s cock is damp with pre-come.

Stiles pumps and he thrusts.  Just keeps pumping and thrusting.

Oh yeah, that and moaning too loud because they’re not all lucky enough to have a pillow conveniently floating around and he tries his best not to do anything incriminating, like burst out into the chorus of Bruno Mars' “Marry You” because, AWESOME! And fuck, fuck, not yet, he can almost hear the sounds Derek muffles in the pillow and this time, Derek is gonna come first if it it kills him, oh god, it probably will, NOT YET!

and he reaches his other hand to tweak Derek’s nipples, anything to give him an edge and then because he can’t help himself and who is he kidding? he’s gonna come first anyways, he leans down and hopes Derek doesn’t notice too much when he licks his back.

Salty and hot, he bites it gently and fuck, is Derek comin-? Derek’s! Yes! Stiles finally allows himself to let go.

Oh jesus.

Stiles lies down on Derek’s back for no more than a minute.  He gets rid of the condom and falls back on the bed, feeling like the absolute king of the world.

Derek should kick him out of his house all the time.  The guy shoulda thrown his human ass off his property ages ago.

Derek’s shifted so that he’s lying down on his back and now he isn’t doing anything except staring up at the ceiling.

What if Derek’s ass already feels like nothing happened? Stupid healing powers.

“You hummed a song,” Derek says, still looking fascinated by the chipped paint on the ceiling. “For a minute there.”

Shit.

“No I didn’t.”

Derek leans up on one elbow and glares at him. “You did.”

“See I’m pretty sure I didn’t. And it’s my vocal cords, so… Besides. You bit the pillow.”

“And you bit my back?”

“What’s this? A play-by-play of my moves? I loved it, you obviously loved it, that’s all we need to know.”

Stiles worries that Derek might reach for the surf board, but Derek actually smiles, and not in an I’m-going-to-enjoy-hurting-you way.

Stiles doesn’t question why, he just lifts himself on his elbow so he can kiss that werewolf grin. It’s just too tempting.

Derek isn’t caught off guard, he kisses him back right away.  Today he tastes super sweet with a hint of woods.  Like maple syrup.

Stiles isn’t sure how long they kiss but they finally stop and it’s only a lot later, when Stiles’ head falls to the mattress because his human pillow moves that he realizes they were cuddling.

Which okay, is a thing that might happen.

Not extra weird, just convenient. Body heat, they weren’t paying too much attention.

But then.

Derek’s up and about, gathering his clothes, and Stiles is staring at his chest.

Not even intimidated. Or annoyed.  It’s just pretty.  He wonders what licking some of the ridges might feel like. How soon he can get away with doing that without Derek getting all critical of his sex moves.

Stiles is disappointed when Derek puts his shirt on.

“You still smell like me,” Derek says, and he’s gone.

Derek is so gone that Stiles can almost pretend this never happened except he’s not sure he wants to except for a minute there, he wanted to touch Derek’s chest, to lick it.

And that has to mean… something.

 

On Monday, during lunch break Stiles catches himself putting vinegar in his trunk after he wrote it down on a list, left school, drove to the grocery store, searched for the right aisle, picked the biggest jug off the shelf, brought it to a cash, and paid for it.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just being prepared for every eventuality and securing his sex life with Lydia because that’s no longer a thing of fantasyland, not just because he hasn’t fantasized about her in oh the number of days since Derek Hale sucked his dick and fucked him.  That would be two. Two days.

Lydia is not just a thing of fantasyland because Stiles had sex with a man so if that’s possible, anything goes.  And if he’s going to have sex with a man again, because shit happens, no one is going to find out.

Unless he tells them. Tells anyone.

Like, now.  It’s that or cry because he’s not gay but he just bought vinegar?

“Danny?” Stiles says into his phone, sitting in his car in the grocery store parking lot.

“Hi Stiles.”

“Are you alone?” Stiles doesn’t make a joke about asking him what he’s wearing because what if Danny magically knows what Stiles did and takes it as a pick up line and then rejects him and that would be so embarrassing even if Stiles never meant it that way.

“I’m in the computer lab and there’s an outdoor cheerleader practise, so yes.  That’s where you are?”

“Sure.” Stiles smiles politely at the little old lady getting into her beat up Honda civic. “You like Derek’s chest.  I mean Miguel’s.”

“Stiles I should probably admit I know he’s not your cousin.  Jackson’s my best friend, remember?”

“But you like his chest.”

“What? Where are you going with this?”

“I don’t.  I mean I don’t look at it and want to touch it or something, k fine I do, but only because it’s monstrous.”

“I’m starting to feel offended.”

“And I never want to have sex with him.”

“O-kay?”

“Cool.  Thanks.  This has been a good conversation.  See ya.”

Stiles hangs up and puts his key in the ignition but that was really a shit conversation so Stiles calls Danny again.

Danny’s quick. “One insulting thing and I’m hanging up.”

“Got it,” Stiles says. “IfIwantedtotouchDerek’schestoncedoesthatmeanI’mgay?”

“We-ell…”

“Well what?”

“I mean, according to my insider’s knowledge…”

Stiles lets that one slide, too anxious about Danny’s answer to defend himself by saying that he called Danny because he’s his only friend who’s almost outside Derek’s circle of influence. “Yes?”

“This might hint at…How can I say this?”

“Really? I feel like there are no hints, more like an absence of hints.  You’re reading too much into this, it was hardly a, it was just a-“

“I’m messing with you, Stiles. You’re not gay, you’re stupid.”

Stiles sighs, relieved.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. It just goes against everything he thought he knew about himself and if he doesn’t even know what gender turns him on, if he’s been wrong all these years, then, well, nothing makes sense.

Danny taps something into a keyboard and sounds a little distracted. “Was that it? Any other burning questions or can I get back to my own life?”

If wanting to touch a dude’s chest, like, feeling the desire to when he’s not even sucking your dick or anything, isn’t gay, then having sex with him twice in the heat of the moment because you got swept away shouldn’t mean much.

But just to be sure… “Hypothetically speaking.  In an alternate universe. What if I had sex with Derek just 2 times! would that mean I’m-?”

Danny is quiet for a second, not even the clang of his fingers on a keyboard. “What do you mean by “sex”?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“You don’t need to draw me a picture, just a faint outline. Hey, you called me.”

“Fine. Fine. It was, it was, you know. The usual sex stuff.”

“So…he- accidentally touched your knee? or something, and you’re calling me with your homophobic paranoi-“

“Oral. And uh penetrative. Sex. A bit of erectile stimu-, stimulation. Some mouth to mouth.” 

No response, so Stiles continues, “Probably other stuff.”  

Silence. 

Stiles winces. “Like uh, frottage.”

Lots of silence. 

Stiles crosses his arms when he notices he’s rubbing them nervously. “So…”

Weird.

He can’t be sure, but the rhythmic _bang, bang, bang_ makes it sound like Danny’s hitting his head against a keyboard or a wall or some other hard surface.  

“Danny? You okay over there?”

“I despise you. With the heat of a thousand suns.”

Stiles does his best to ignore the continued head banging and muffled not-so-nice-words on the other side of the line. “So does that mean-? I mean, you’re not really clearing things up for me here.”

“You don’t even like his chest. I can’t- I don’t want to hear another thing about this, ever.”

Huh.

Stiles places the phone in his pocket.

So.

Sooo.

Looks like sex counts.

The gay is a thing.

Gay with Derek? That’s just crazy.

But he bought vinegar.

Stiles does not freak out.  Doesn’t have time to, another item just added itself to his grocery list. 

Mountain ashes.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve taken certain liberties with mountain ashes. Yep. I’ll just keep writing while you get that image out of your head. I’ve modified the concept a little: a werewolf or an otherwise supernatural being can’t get past a closed circle but a human can. Said human could for example break the circle once they’re inside it. Stiles is aware of the loophole, but so is everyone else.

Stiles takes a bite out of his turkey sandwich, eyeing all the blinds covering the wall of windows.  It’s so hard to concentrate in the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria, but important plans must be made because turns out setting up a circle of mountain ashes around his property works a little too well.

A week with no sex.  17 years felt long but now that he knows what sex is, a week is worse.

But really, a little mountain ashes shouldn’t keep a werewolf out.  Not if he’s determined.  Derek could throw a rock at his window.  Write him a letter. Track him down during the day.

In these past 168 hours of no sex, Stiles has had a lot of time to think.  And he’s come to some startling conclusions. So Derek’s scary. It’s not like with Erica, there’s no contest, the sexy trumps the scary.  Hands down. How could he have thought Derek’s anger management issues were more important than sex?

And if Derek wants to go back to topping, that’s cool with him. More than cool.  Yep, tonight he’s taking down the circle of mountain ashes. 

Lighting some candles.  Wearing his sexy underwear. He doesn’t own sexy underwear. Um. What kind of bait would Derek respond the most favorably to?

Does Derek like thongs? He seems like the type, he wears a lot of leather, but it’s so hard to tell.  Anyways it’s too early in their sexual relationship for that kind of shenanigans. Food? Would that work? It can’t be too early to take out the whipped cream.

Still contemplating the pros and cons of various forms of werewolf bait, Stiles absentmindedly turns his head to find Scott napping on the table.

Snoring, with a charming trail of drool.

Stiles should let the poor kid snooze.  He should. And he would, but the guy already snuck in a full night’s worth of sleepytime during their morning classes. “So, Scott.  What have you been up to?”

“Hmmm?” Scott lifts his head.

Deep purple shadows beneath his eyes. Dude, Scott doesn’t look so hot. “Hey. You alright?”

Scott nods and yawns at the same time. “Allison, pack, lacrosse, school. No sleep. But life, life good.”

No, Scott’s life not good. Scott’s mental state has deteriorated to caveman level. Except cavemen were pretty crafty, they drew little pictures on their cave walls, came up with fire, hit poor caveladies over the head with big sticks- ah. “Made any progress winning her back?”

“Sent dozen roses. Every day. Violinist. Chocolate. Doves.” Scott looks pitifully in Allison’s direction, five tables back, where the girl is innocently eating lunch. “No.”

“Wow, man.  That’s tough luck. I’m sure she’ll come arou- wait. You tried talking to her first, right?”

Scott looks mournfully down at their table. “Want to, but Derek…”

“Yeah? Go on.”

Scott shrugs.

Stiles tries to be casual. “Seriously. What about him?  Has he been acting like the usual good old Derek? Nothing off or new? Does he seem, like, more relaxed, or, I dunno, kinda tense, you could almost say, pent up?”

“Has us hunting and training. No time.” A fierce look comes over Scott’s face, and he almost looks like Derek did when kicking Stiles off his property. “Have to kill Peter. Soon.”

“Whoa.  Peter can’t be back. Again. We- the things we did to him after the Lydia-exorcist thing, I mean, there were so many pieces- I would know if Peter was, shit I wouldn’t. He’s back? Does that man ever die?”

Scott nods and then shrugs, which must mean yes to the Peter-is-back, maybe to his mortality.

Life.

 Sweet, sweet life is more important than sex. For now, at least. “I’m keeping my mountain ashes right where they are. Unless- How do you know Peter’s in town?”

“Derek knows.”

 “Is that why he kicked me out? To keep me safe?”

Scott shakes his head, frowns. “Don’t think so.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

 

As soon as he gets home from school, Stiles begins to search the web to find out how Peter might’ve survived the horrible gruesome things the pack did to him last summer.  It’s dark out by the time his empty stomach forces him to concede that the internet might not hold the answer to this one.

Stiles heads downstairs, turns on the T.V. and opens the fridge. Score, leftovers. Microwave? Naah, microwaves are for rookies. He sits on the couch, eating cold yet delicious shepherd’s pie, not really paying attention to what the anchorman is saying on the screen.

Peter. Peter is bad.

Derek, on the other hand.  Derek is tricky. He has moments of way-bad intercut with –actually, no, has he ever done anything truly, all the way good? Sure, he helps Scott, but always with the goal of getting him in his pack. Pretty much Derek’s only focus these days seems to be amassing power.

So. Derek’s definitely not like good boyfriend or even friend material, but it seems more like that’s because no one ever taught him how. 

What were Derek’s parents like? His sister? Stiles can’t picture them at all. Derek’s just always so… alone. Stiles doesn’t have his mom but at least he’s got Scott and his dad.

Maybe that’s why Derek wants him. Because he’s lonely. Stiles knows he should probably feel hurt or something by that realization, but he’s kind of lonely too. Plus Derek is wicked hot.

Seriously.

His ass is so firm. Why can’t it be here, beside him, right now? And his nipples.  Sure, they look like pencil erasers, but...They’ve got their own special thing going on. His cock. Is very, uh. Very.  Thick. Just, the veins on that thing. He needs to examine them from up-

He drops the tupperware into his lap when he sees a weird shadow moving outside.  Mutes the volume of the T.V.

Voices?  There was no rumble of a car engine.

Which can only mean…

He looks out the window and can’t see much of anything, except suddenly the shadow moves way too fast to be human.

Within the circle of mountain ashes.

For that to happen, whichever werewolf who’s out there needs non-supernatural assistance and Stiles is the Hale pack’s sidekick.

Fuck.

Peter.

Knocks on the door.

Stiles grabs the lamp and walks towards the front door, slowly. “Come on, Peter, remember the good times we had, with the, with the nurse in your trunk? Fun times. Let’s not hurt Stiles.  I swear the pack doesn’t even like me anymore. To be perfectly honest- which I will always be with you, I mean, come on, we’re buddies -they never even started liking me.”

The door opens and Stiles lifts the lamp.

Drops it on the floor when he sees Lydia.

Totally stupid, because now the weapon that he very much needs is broken. Or extra sharp…

“Hey Lydia.” Stiles picks up the broken lamp. “What’s up?”

Can’t see Peter yet, but Lydia is definitely his sidekick of choice.

She looks unhurt, if angry. “All I was doing was holding my book in the mall, and someone takes it as an opportunity to kidnap me. Does that seem fair to you? Since when is trying to get a manicure while reading up on 20th century existentialism a crime that should be punished by were-napping?”

20th century what? Besides the point. “Since never. And you’re right, it doesn’t seem fair at all. But Lydia, are you okay? Did Peter do anything? Where is he?”

She opens her mouth.

Wait, if Lydia’s here that means Peter’s here which means death, but also! There’s still a chance that he might get his dying wish. Stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but there’s a miniscule possibility that it might work. “Lydia, there’s something you need to know: I’m gay.”

Now is when Stiles could really benefit from owning a time accelerator machine. Because, true fact: girls always get naked in front of gay boys.  Rationally, Stiles gets that Lydia won’t spontaneously lift her shirt and show him the goods, but he keeps his eyes peeled in that general vicinity just in case.

Uh oh, the shadow behind Lydia is moving.  Maybe Peter won’t want to kill him right away, maybe he needs Stiles to do something for him.

“He’s not,” Derek says, materializing out of the shadowy mass.

“Oh come on,” Stiles says.  “Don’t keep me your dirty little secret.  Now is not the time.  Wait, so Peter isn’t outside wanting to kill me?”

“Thanks for your help,” Derek says, smiling at Lydia in a flirty way.

And Stiles… does not like that.

This is so messed up.

Stiles doesn’t know who he’s angry at, well no, he’s definitely pissed at Derek, but whether it’s for trying to steal his girl or trying to cheat on him! Nope, nope, he’s pissed at Lydia too. _Stay away. Hide those blond locks from my man, lady._

“That’s it?” Lydia says, surprisingly immune to Derek’s smile. Or is she… That spark in her eyes, adrenaline, or…? Why exactly does she want to stay, hmmm?

“Yep,” Stiles decides, “that’s it.” Stiles walks up to Derek with the intention of kissing him so that Lydia will get that she is not welcome here, and maybe he’s telegraphing his intentions because Derek’s walking up to meet him but midway there, “Ow! Ow!” Derek twists his arm.

And leads him outside, by that arm twisted behind his back.

“Where are you going?” Lydia says from the house, which is getting farther and farther away.  Wherever Derek’s headed, he’s determined to get there fast.

“If I don’t show up within 24 hours tell my dad Derek ate my corpse,” Stiles yells, then whispers to the idiot pulling him closer and closer to the forest. “We just leaving her in my house? And ow, if you want to hold hands so badly, do it like a normal person.”

They stop.

Derek does not use his words, noo, he just grabs Stiles’ foot and uses it to kick an opening in the barrier of mountain ashes, while Stiles tries not to fall on his face.

Then he uses Stiles foot to kick the circle closed, like Stiles is his puppet.

“Watch it!” Stiles says and Derek goes back to the arm pulling, but this time with no twisting.

They are in the forest now, and Derek is still leading him at a fast pace, but at least he’s making sure no branches hit them. Stiles doesn’t particularly enjoy heading deep into forests after sunset, he hasn’t exactly had good experiences there, but his red-eyed fuckbuddy- dude, makes it sound like he’s putting out for a stoner- should scare off all the other creatures of the night.

There is a downside to that, and it is the fact that no one will witness whatever Derek intends to do to him.  Which should be promising for his goal of getting sexytimes but…“You aren’t leading me to Peter, right?”

“Idiot.”

“Hey. I’m just checking. Not some kind of woodland virgin sacrifice ceremony, either? Cos, you know I’m not eligible anymore. ”

And, _bam!_ Stiles is shoved against a tree. 

Bark, digging into his back.

Stiles gasps. “Derek, babe, gentle with the human.” Stiles gasps again, but in a totally different way, when Derek shoves his hands up Stiles’ shirt, possessively gripping him tight.

And kissing, lips, tongue, teeth. Lots of teeth. Almost more teeth than Stiles is okay with.

Heat and darkness, wrapped around him. “Where have you _been_?” Stiles whispers. “A week!” and Derek is here now and Stiles is so tired of being shoved into things so he does his manful best to switch their positions.

Derek resists, maybe thinking Stiles is trying to leave, but Stiles keeps with the kissing, trying to soften things up a tad, because jesus, he uses his lips for other things, all he needs is for them to be swollen like two giant balloons tomorrow and for his dad to ask even more questions.

Speaking of questions, “you didn’t happen to bring any lube with you?”

Derek stops moving. Completely.

Was Stiles not supposed to ask that? Like, how was he to know that was not an okay question? “Um. Never mind.”

Suddenly arms wrap around him in a definite hug-like fashion as Derek pulls him close, and chuckles? Is that chuckling? Into his neck. Stiles shivers when he feels a soft kiss on his collarbone.

“No,” Derek finally says. “Sorry.”

Mmmkay, Stiles can still work with that. Taking advantage of Derek’s stillness, Stiles flips their positions so that Derek’s against the tree trunk.  He lifts Derek’s shirt up because now he has some room to manoeuvre in. Stiles licks his way down Derek’s chest, gets all his clothes out of the way, and just goes to town on that cock.

Stiles freaken’ hums around a mouthful of Derek’s dick, so greedy because it’s been too long, and Derek holds his shoulders tight like he’s afraid Stiles is gonna stop which is ridiculous because that is the last thing on Stiles’ mind.

Stiles looks up into Derek’s face and wishes that he had better night vision but he doesn’t need werewolf eyesight to see that Derek’s irises are glowing red and fixed on him.

Stiles could do this all night but Derek pulls out of his mouth, which is just mean.

Derek kneels down so they’re face to face and kisses him, wraps his hands around both of their cocks and the friction, all Stiles can do is grab hold of the tree to dig his fingers into the bark and ride it out.  It doesn’t take either of them long to come. 

As soon as Stiles becomes lucid, he nudges Derek until he’s lying on the ground and plasters himself on top because Derek's the one who led them into the freaken’ forest, he gets to have all those twigs and nature digging into his ass.

Derek wraps his arms around him. Twice in one night.

This is. Almost…cozy.  Which is the last word he ever thought he’d associate with Derek Hale, king of the surprise attack.

“So,” Stiles speaks into Derek’s neck. “Was Peter the one who cut you? Sunday?”

“Duh,” Derek says. “Lydia fixed your circle.  There were seven weak spots.”

“Yeah right. I spread those ashes like a pro.  You just wanted to flirt with Lydia.  If the circle was broken, why would you wait until tonight to fix it? Ha! Admit it, you saw an opportunity and you shamelessly-”

“Are you jealous?”

“Are you changing the subject?”

“Answer the question.”

“Fine, maybe.  Maybe I’m jealous. Happy?”

Derek is quiet.

Was that too much to admit? Is this sex without the feels? It’s not that Stiles’ expects anything from Mr. Emotionally Constipated, but like-

Finally, Derek speaks. “You don’t think it’s about time to move on? You’ve liked her since what, birth? Has she once done anything that hints she sees you as more than a doormat? Needing a shoulder to cry on when Jackson is an asshole only proves my po-”

“That’s not what I meant, stupid. I’m jealous of- just, back to me for a second. Why wait until tonight to show up?”

“Scott only told me about the mountain ashes today.”

Stiles processes this. The circle’s been up since last Monday, which means Derek didn’t even try to get on his property.

Not once.

Derek has been ignoring him all week.

Well.

Two can play at this game.

Yeah, he can be chill about this too. Especially because for a second there, Derek sounded pret-ty much like a 6th book Harry pulling an oh-no-Ginny-is-talking-to-another-boy-there-is-a-monster-in-my-chest.

That, and the big bad werewolf and him are cuddling.  No way to get around it, they are two dudes who just made out and touched each other sexily and who are now holding each other in an intimate fashion. Derek and Stiles, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

“What are you humming now?” Derek moves his legs a little so one of Stiles’ falls onto the earth.

“Nothing.” Oh yes, Derek liiiikes him. “Since I’ve got you at my disposal, what’s with Scott? Have you been torturing him?”

Derek shrugs, because Stiles is so puny the man can still move his shoulders with Stiles on top of him. His body is so warm. A lot harder than a mattress, but still perfect for lying on.  Furniture companies should manufacture Derek-shaped mattresses. No, no, there should just be one custom made Derek-mattress that only Stiles is allowed to own.  

“Stiles.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Why not? ‘M comfy.”

“I have to go.”

“Would you quit saying that? Just no. You need to sleep, I need to sleep, you’re my pillow.”

“Stiles…”

“Stay.”

Stiles is almost dozing when Derek answers.

“Fine. But only for a little while.”

“Cool,” Stiles mumbles.

He sleeps.  He’s in the middle of a horrible nightmare about flying ninja tortoises trying to steal his ice cream sandwiches, when something pinches his elbow, hard.

“Stop it,” Stiles mumbles, “the ice cream, no, don’t,” and he fuzzily remembers why his bed might try to pinch him. “Derek, shhh. Five more minutes.”

“No. Get dressed.”

Stiles blinks his eyes open to find dawn sunlight. He is a bit chilly. “Yeah, okay.”

They dress in silence, mostly because Stiles is too asleep to be anything other than a zombie.  His clothes are grossly damp. He would almost prefer to go home naked, it’s just a few feet, but then dad’ll ask even more questions.  He’s too tired to figure out what he’ll say about the broken lamp.

He can maybe –maybe, but this will take some delicate maneuvering- rope his dad into believing the lamp is part of the same really important science project by which he explained the circle of mountain ashes.

Which Derek walks him up to.

Still trying to figure out how a broken lamp will be part of his science project, Stiles keeps walking. He’s jerked to a stop by the hand pulling his shirt.

Alright, now he’s awake.

“Close the circle,” Derek says.

Stiles looks down and sure enough, his foot disturbed this tiny amount of ashes, which explains how Derek is currently grabbing him.  Even though it’s a good idea, Stiles can’t make himself fix the line of dust, probably because Derek ordered him to.  Authority figures are just gross. “Later.”

“Now.”

Wait. “You know something I don’t? Like, is Peter coming after me?”

“I’d tell you if he was.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“Because you don’t trust me?  He’s not coming after you. But if Peter sees the extra protection, he’ll assume it’s guarding something important to me so he’ll try to get in. Close it.”

Dude. Derek just admitted that he’s important to him! Kinda.

“I can’t,” Stiles takes great pleasure in saying. “You’re holding my shirt.”

Derek lets go so fast Stiles almost falls to the ground.

Derek crosses his arms, waiting.  His face is blank, but Stiles can just tell he’s smirking inside because he can get Stiles to obey him like a good little she-dog. Oh my god, Stiles is literally Derek’s bitch.

“I’ll do it if you kiss me,” Stiles says, just to prove he has some power. “You know, a proper goodbye. From one dude to another.”

Derek takes one, then two steady steps towards Stiles. Leans in and kisses him, a real kiss, none of last night’s teeth business.

Sweet, like an apology or something. This is…really nice.

“Your mouth tastes awful,” Derek says.

“ _Your_ mouth tastes awful.”

Just for that- okay for other reasons too- he kisses Derek again with extra tongue. Mmm, maybe Derek doesn’t have to leave right away.  Derek needs to warm up too. They could shower –holy shit, why has he not thought of showering with Derek yet, that is totally happening next time!

Derek gradually ends the kiss. “I have to go.”

“Hey, last night, or this morning, remember? Stop saying that.”

“I have to…” Derek frowns. “What am I supposed to say?”

“I dunno, just not that.”

“You’d rather I leave without a word?”

“How about we use a code, like, whenever you have to leave, you say…Oreos. It’ll soften the blow.”

“Bye Stiles.”

“Fine, I’ll say it. Oreos. Tons of important,” Stiles yawns, “important stuff to do.” He kicks the teeny amount of ashes back where it’s supposed to be, and still Derek doesn’t leave. “That was our code word.”

“Yeah, I got it. Just don’t forget the vinegar.  And Stiles? Stay home tonight.” Now, now he runs off and disappears into the woods. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Later that day, Stiles looks for Scott after school because Derek’s stay-at-home-puny-human warning was irritating and ominous. Plus his friend was M.I.A. during lunch break. He spots the uneven chin in the mostly empty hallway, races over and corners Scott by the lockers.

 “Hey,” Stiles says. “You’re looking good-” Scott turns to face him, the circles beneath his eyes drooping down to his chin almost. K, fine, they’re regular sized but way dark. “I take that back, dude. Dude!”

“Allison and I are meant to be together,” Scott says, possibly mumbling to himself. “Why can’t she see that?”

“Love is hard, bro.  All those… feelings.  But hey, progress: you’re speaking with real subject-verb-object sentences again! You finally get a full night’s sleep?”

“Nope.” Scott riffles through his pencil case, takes out his lucky blue pen. “Derek made us look for Peter all morning.  I had to get up at 5. Well, 4, because I had to see a guy about a lemur.  Allison loves them.”

“You don’t say.  Funny story, I was up at 4 too. With Derek. And you know, about that…We need to talk.”

Scott grabs his binder and closes his locker. “Can it wait? If it’s urgent, I’ll make time. But I’m already late for a makeup-test.”

“What? I could’ve helped you study! Not cool. But yeah,” Stiles nods. “Yeah, it can wait.  See you right after you’re done?”

Scott stands still for a second, looking hesitant. “Sure you don’t need to tell me now?”

“I’m sure I don’t want them holding you back a year. Get out of here.  And if it’s multiple choice, remember: they always try to trick you.”

“Thanks.” Scott heads down the hallway.  If Scott fails his test Stiles’ll get Danny to hack into the school network to change the grade to a pass or something. It’s not Scott’s fault his life is cray-cray.

Missed tests, demanding Alphas, an “it’s complicated” girlfriend situation, psychotic killers to chase...

Stiles should probably wait outside the classroom so he can intercept Scott as soon as he’s done and ask him what’s going down tonight. And tell him about Derek.

Tell him everything.  Well not everything everything, he can gloss over the  uh, _best not think about that right now Stiles, you’re in public_. Moving on from that which he is not thinking about, he just doesn’t know how Derek feels about Stiles telling anyone anything.  Like, are they telling their friends about it, does Derek want to meet the Sheriff? Not tonight, but eventually.  Over supper, as his son-in-law? Or something, instead of at a crime scene as the delinquent about to be shoved behind bars.

Yeah. Probably neither of them is ready for that.

But- Derek did stay the entire night.

Either way, Stiles wants his best friend’s take on it. Since the day they met, Scott has always been his confidant. Wow, the word sounds kinda French, like _fiancé_ or _filet mignon_.

“Hey. Danny!” His second favorite lacrosse player. Third, if he’s including himself. Which he might as well.  Huh, will Derek want to come to his lacrosse games? “How’s it going?”

“Where’s Scott?” Danny frowns.

Okaay, Danny’s still acting weird.

“He just left. I was actually gonna tell him about me and Derek but-”

“Aah!” Danny covers his ears.  “No talking about it. Ever. I still can’t believe…I know life is unfair, but…”

“You really are hot for me, aren’t you.”

“I haven’t gotten laid in two weeks and you, Stiles! _penetrative_! With Derek Hale.” Danny crosses his arms, the move highlighting all his muscles. See, those abs are why Stiles can’t wrap his head around why Derek chose to have sex with well, him.

Danny’s built like a truck and he’s nice to boot. Probably never had a panic attack in his life. Derek and Danny could totally bond over their various criminal offences. Sure, Danny only has the one misdemeanor, but he’s a good listener.

Stiles takes in what Danny just said and blinks. “Wow. Two weeks. That’s such a long time.”

“Fine. 11 days.”

“’Course. Course it hasn’t even been two weeks. You know what, I think you’ll live. Besides, Derek’s not thaaat great.  I mean, he is, he is, but…He’s got issues up the wazoo. Dysfunctional family. Mostly can’t talk about important shit.  Barely knows what the internet is. Little to no concept of boundaries or personal space.  Huh, he’s basically a bully from the 90s.”

Danny considers this. “He doesn’t know what the internet is?”

“Worse, he probably never played a video game in his life.  I’m pretty sure he doesn’t wash his clothes either. Or if he does, he’s really secretive about it.”

“He sounds weird.”

“Oh, he is,” Stiles nods. “So we cool?”

“Yeah. Just don’t rub it in.”

“Never.” Stiles hopes he’ll be able to last a few days without mentioning Derek and sex in the same sentence.  It could happen. “Why are you looking for Scott?”

“Oh. Allison wanted me to pass this along. I barely know her and she just gives me this. Would you take care of it?” He hands Stiles a small blue envelope with Scott’s name on it, penned in bubbly cursive.

Scott is gonna explode into sprinkles and rainbows when he gets this.  There’s gonna be a sickening amount of mushy gooey lurvfests.

“No problem,” Stiles says.

 

If someone were looking in on his life but only had access to his thoughts, they’d assume his outside looked like the standard model of slutty blond chick in a horror film. The girl who runs into the empty parking lot at night when there’s a serial killer on the loose and you can hear the creepy music, so you’re yelling “NO! NO!” at the screen, but still she fucking does it and ends up deader than Elvis.

Because even he knows he is being stu-pid.

See, after he sent Danny on his way, he went looking for Scott, only to be told that Scott left mid-exam with, get this, Derek Hale.

Once again, Stiles is jealous of one of his friends for getting more Derek-time than him.

Still, he understands right away.  The world does not revolve around him. It would be nice if his best friend and his man-friend/fuckbuddy/whatever kept him in the loop when psychopaths are on the loose, but you win some, you lose some.

Yeah, something fishy and Peter related is definitely up. At first, Stiles does the smart thing, hides in his safe werewolf-repellant zone.

For a good while. He lasts until sunset but then-

 It’s just sooo boring.

He throws _Batman: Battle for the_ _Cowl_ on the floor, gets off his bed and tries not to think about what he’s doing too much while he gathers his supplies.

Baseball bat, dad’s gun, snacks, vinegar’s already in the trunk, ashes.

Oh, and the letter. Can’t forget Allison’s envelope.  Really, it’s his duty as a best friend to deliver it immediately.

He could be. Could be just going on a really fun outing.

He throws everything in his jeep and starts driving aimlessly. Or in a very pointed direction, though he keeps accidentally-or-not taking these turns that lead him back to his house.

After his 3rd U-turn, he settles on a trajectory just so he’ll stop feeling dizzy.

So.

Soooooooooo.

He’s doing this.

Driving to the house of the werewolf who kicked him off the premises. Stiles wishes he could think about glib or funny things but his brain is starting to shut down in a _turn around, turn around, where are you going you stupid dumber than a rock idiot_ way.

Except he gets there. All the lights are off and it’s creepy and, from his car, looks like no one’s home. His pack is off somewhere without him and he doesn’t know where, barely knows why, and Derek doesn’t do phones.

He texts Scott who doesn’t answer.

Lydia and she’s busy. 

Jackson, even.

And his dad’s working so they can’t even talk or something and so he blames what he does next on all of them.

It’s not a good idea, a good idea would be _leaving_ , but yeah, he grabs his stuff and gets out of the car.

The light from his cell works for shining a trail to the porch.  It’s not like he has to hide; if any monsters are lurking about, they heard him arrive. He manages not to pee his pants while he pours a trail of vinegar behind him to hide his scent in the off chance he lives past the next 10 minutes.

He opens the door and slips in, jumping at each crack, but not too much because he does have a gun in his bag that could accidentally go off if he did something so out of character as tripping.

Jesus he’s so gonna die tonight.

The shadows look like they’re staring back at him.  But he much rathers bumping into walls and things than having the way being led by say, moonlight. See? See, at least he’s not the type of stupid who creeps into a werewolf’s place of dwelling on a full moon.

In a state between terror and more terror, he takes the stairs. Miraculously makes it alive into Derek’s room. He sets up a small circle of mountain ashes around himself, gently puts the bag down, and throws himself into what he thinks is Derek’s bed.

Yep. It’s a bed. It’s super comfy. Dude, it actually smells new.

He settles in and hopes none of his friends are getting killed without him right now in a really fun way.

As the minutes take their sweet time passing, his eyes get used to the darkness and he takes in Derek’s bedroom. There’s a dresser, but that’s pretty much it.  His mental faculties slowly ebb back and he starts regretting the last hour of his life.

In the best possible outcome, Derek is going to kill him for this, but very fast. Worst, Peter’s gonna do it slowly.  Or Derek’s gonna let Jackson eat him. But still he doesn’t leave. He barely survived making his way from the jeep to here.  No way is he doing that again until it’s the middle of a bright sunny day.

He freezes. He stops breathing, tries not to blink, when he hears the first floor entrance door open. Lord, let there be voices. Please, friendly, familiar ones, chatting away.

“Oh, Derek. It’s adorable that you truly believed you and your pack of angst-ridden teenagers would win.  How many times do I have to come back to life for you to get it? I can’t die.”

That is mostly bad. The only silver-lining: Peter is hopefully gloating for the pleasure of torturing a living, breathing, yet somehow restrained Derek.

Plus, Peter hasn’t explicitly said that he killed anyone.

_Alright, Derek, now it’s your turn to growl something back._

Stiles keeps holding his breath, because if he can hear Peter…

“You can still join me.” Shit that’s still Peter. “Sure I have my quirks, but who doesn’t?  Honestly, think about it for a second. And hasn’t there already been enough death in the family? It’s a pity about Laura... You know, tearing her in half was surprisingly easy, but then she still trusted me.”

 That is going too fucking far.

Stiles reaches into his bag, grabs the gun, aims to his far left, utters a brief prayer, and shoots the ceiling.

The bang is deafening and he falls back because of the force of the recoil.  It can’t be more than a minute before his hearing returns in one ear. It sounds like the end of the world downstairs.

Growls, cracks, bangs, violent yelps of pain.

Stiles keeps holding the gun while he walks out into the hallway. Any night-vision he gained is shot to hell, but he feels his way, and he’s at the top of the stairs when everything goes silent.

Please let Derek be alive.

“Stiles?” That’s Scott’s muted voice. “I smell Stiles, right?”

“Yes,” Jackson growls. “He stinks.”

“Is Derek okay?” Stiles says.

“Come on,” Erica says. Is the whole pack downstairs? “We have to cut Peter up and burn the body.”

“Please could someone turn on a light,” Stiles says. “Derek’s alive?”

Stiles blinks when the light flashes on and the scene is illuminated by Jackson, of all people.

They broke his dad’s T.V. and most of the other furniture. It’s pretty much a ransacked furniture graveyard down there.

As for the non-furniture, Scott’s in a fetal position near the door. Erica, Jackson, Boyd and Isaac don’t look in much better shape, but they’re standing.

Peter’s dead, or must wish he was. Ripped open with internal organs spilling out, the trail of blood leading to a naked chained Derek, a Derek who is straining at the end of his leash in Stiles’ direction, murderously alive.

Some wounds here and there, but nothing that’s not quickly healing.

Stiles sits down because his knees give way. All things considered, he doesn’t let go of the gun.

Everyone is naked, actually, but thankfully they’re pretty mud splattered. Stiles eyes stop for a second on Erica’s breasts, mostly in surprise that they look so squishy.

Derek growls, lifting his manacled hands, “Erica’s right. Get the key for the chains.”

Erica and Boyd head for Peter’s corpse, with Isaac leading the way and Jackson in tow.

“Anything I can do to help?” Stiles says because his monkey brains are telling him that he needs an excuse to leave Derek alone so that the man can cool off from all his fighting-adrenaline, plus all that anger that seems focused on Stiles rather than on man who actually deserves it, Peter. Or even Jackson. Jackson musta done something.

“I’ll stay and keep guard,” Scott croaks out, a ridiculous statement, because the main threat is dead and Scott looks like he needs to spend 6 months in a hospital.

“Chicken,” Boyd says, picking up the top of the body with Erica carrying the bottom.

“Can I ask why you’re all-“ Stiles waves his hand. He’s stalling. He is very much not ready for them to leave him alone with-

“Naked?” Erica smirks.

“Earth covered,” Stiles says.

“We had an orgy,” Erica says. “Is little Stiles sad he wasn’t invited?”

“As if I would touch any of you,” Jackson says, holding the front door open.

“It’s impossible anyways,” Stiles says. “You have to be 8 people or more and you’re only-“

“We were trying to disguise our scent so that Peter wouldn’t find us,” Isaac explains as he wraps Peter in a tarp.  Stiles can’t help noticing how efficient they all are. Who have they been practising on?

Jackson walks out first.

“Uhun?” Stiles says. “What did that entail, exactly?”

“Mud,” Boyd says, and Isaac shuts the door behind them.

So that Stiles is all alone with Scott and Derek.

Okay. He can handle this.  There must be something he can do to-“Clothes! I can get you two clothes.”

 “I want my mom,” Scott moans.

“As soon as the pack’s back,” Stiles says. “That’s where we’re headed. We’ll tell her it was all my fault, that I dared you into doing something stupid.”

Stiles avoids looking in the direction of He of the Pulsing Anger and races to Derek’s bedroom, turning on all the lights on his way.  He puts the gun back in his bag and looks through Derek’s drawers, where the dude indeed has 10-identical black t-shirts. He grabs some pants too, finds the bathroom and wets one of the shirts.

Slowly.  Taking the time to admire the rusty faucet, counting the number of cracked tiles on the wall -27-, not picturing Derek naked and sudsy in the shower.

When the cotton is suitably drenched, Stiles painstakingly wrings the material out. He rushes downstairs without looking at Derek and drops off a pile of clothes in front of Scott first. “You put these on only when you’re ready.”

Stiles carefully turns towards Derek.

Who is, yeah, extra-glaring at him. Still exuding buckets of angry.

Stiles opts to stay at a safe and unreachable distance.  He throws Derek the clothes with the wet shirt, because he would really like it if Derek had a little less blood around his mouth and face and chest, as well as no more other lumpy bits Stiles doesn’t want to examine too closely.

Derek does not reach for anything.

“What?” Stiles mouths, mindful of Scott. “I used vinegar. Made a circle of mountain ashes! Brought a gun! A baseball bat, even.”

Derek is not calmed. Maybe he can’t read lips.

“Could you rinse the-?” Stiles says, waving around his face. “Just a little?”

Derek continues being mad at him, only now he’s ignoring him too. Derek turns to face the entrance, so Stiles does too, and sure enough, the door creaks open and the pack trickles in.

Wearing clothes that are worse for wear, but better than nothing.

“That was fast,” Stiles says. “Was that fast? I mean, a whole Peter corpse…You did kill him, right? Before cutting and burning?”

“Isaac’s really good at body disposal,” Boyd says, which is a good enough answer for him.

Stiles tries to subtly plaster himself to the farthest wall when Erica unlocks Derek’s chain of doom.

Derek races out of the house so fast he looks like black lightning.

“Where is he going?” Stiles is determined to feel relieved. Derek did not kill him. That is good.

Erica shrugs.

“Well,” Stiles says. This is the perfect moment to make his exit. Scott doesn’t need to be wearing pants. Pants can be replaced, unlike Stiles’ body parts, which might be vulnerable to Derek’s return considering how fucking pissed he looked. “Scott and I gotta go.”

Stiles freezes when Derek zooms back into the house and straight up to the second floor.

“What is he-?! Yep,” Stiles says. “Scott. Up!”

Water starts running upstairs while Stiles tries to wrap Scott’s arm around his shoulder, because Derek’s taking a shower, apparently.  The perfect thing to do in the middle of the night after getting your henchmen to dispose of a relative.

Scott starts sniffing him.  The poor guy has two black eyes that, even with his supernatural healing powers, still look worse than Stiles’ shiner did two weeks ago, but that does not excuse sticking your nose so close to your best friend’s groin.

“Hey,” Stiles says. “Quit it!”

Scott continues to sniff. “You smell like…”

Oh, shit. He used vinegar, didn’t he?

Didn’t he?

“You smell like,” Scott whispers. “You smell like… Tell me right now why your crotch smells like Allison.”

“Oh I have to hear the answer to this one.” Jackson leans against the wall like he’s settling in for storytime.

“Um can I tell you later?” Stiles says. “We need to leave NOW.”

“No,” Scott snarls, and though it’s kind of hard to tell because his face is such a pulpy mess, he’s starting to look extra-wolfish.

Stiles eyes the stairs, looks at Scott, eyes the stairs. “Fine. Fine! But when I die, you tell my dad it was your fault.”

“With pleasure,” Scott says and the glint in his eye is so evil that Stiles eyes the window to make sure that yep, there are no full moons, which still means he better start explaining pronto.

To think that he survived the Peter part of the evening to die now, either at the hands of a jealous werewolf or an inexplicably angry one. Is Derek like afraid that Stiles might’ve gotten hurt? Probably not, Mr. Alpha must be mad about Stiles disobeying his orders. And about what he did to the house. Oh jeez. “Scott could you just trust me-“

Scott starts growling.

Stiles sighs. “In my pocket, I have a letter from your ladylove.  Let’s get in the car, and I promise I’ll-”

“Now. Read it to me,” Scott says.

“See I knew you were gonna say that.” Stiles rips the envelope open and clears his throat, very aware that the water is no longer running upstairs.

As a precaution, Stiles temporarily puts the envelope down so he can take off his shirt. Dude it’s cold, but this way he won’t have a collar for Derek to grab onto.

“The orgy’s over, Stiles.” Erica sits on one of the ripped couch cushions.

“Only in your dreams did that ever happen, Erica,” Boyd says, joining her.

“Ew,” Jackson says. “Get dressed.”

“Quiet everyone.” Stiles clears his throat again and reads Allison’s girly handwriting,

“Dear Scott,

If you send me one more animal or musician or food item, I will plant an arrow in your stomach, another one in your liver, and a third one in your eye.

Best wishes,

Allison.”

“Sorry, bud,” Stiles says.

“YES!” Scott says. “She still loves me!”

“Uh, Scott…” Stiles says.

“Didn’t you hear?” Scott grins. “She likes the flowers! And she didn’t put any arrows in my heart!”

“True,” Stiles says. “She loves you, man. It’s fate. Hey!” Hands grabbing his waist lift Stiles off the ground.

Jackson says something stupid-sounding but Stiles is a little distracted here.

Derek turns him around midair so that they’re front to front -at least Derek’s wearing clothes now, except the clothes are snug fitting jeans with a sexy black t-shirt- and starts leading him backwards towards, you guessed it, a wall.

He seems more relaxed, which is a good sign for Stiles’ life expectancy but has a potentially embarrassing unexpected consequence. He should’ve of expected it.  Would’ve, if he hadn’t been so sure Scott or Derek was gonna kill him.

“Uh,” Stiles says. “This is a really really really bad idea.”

“I banned you from my house.” Sure, Derek’s intimidating and growling and clothed, but he’s also Derek. And the man has showered, no more gore, plus he smells amazing.

“Uhun, you totally did, just don’t,” Stiles turns his voice into a whisper. “What we need now is distance, lots of space.”

“You hid... in my bedroom.”

“I can’t explain that one,” Stiles says. “Except _you_ do it all the time! Look, it won’t happen again, I promise.” Stiles tries whispering again, “I know you love shoving people, but trust me you won’t like-“

“You shot my roof!”

Stiles winces. “In my defense- though I have no clue what happened tonight because you stupidly kept me in the dark!- I’m pretty sure that turned out to be a helpful distraction. For ripping Peter to shreds. Notice how I’m not freaking out about that?” Uh oh, the wall is right there, Derek is right here, things are getting critical. “How about you let go and I leave, right away, gone, everyone’s happy.”

Derek moves that last inch until Stiles is pinned.

Their bodies, glued together.

Not a whisper of air between them.

It’s almost funny the way Derek’s face changes. From one second to the next, it goes from pissed to incredulous.

“Hey.” Stiles tries not to be embarrassed about his natural, uncontrollable bodily response, but yeah, he blushes. “This is your fault. So much your fault.”

“I think Peter broke my nose,” Scott, who happens to be closest to them, says. “The odours aren’t working right. Doesn’t matter though. I wonder if Allison likes lilies.”

“I can’t believe your stupid face isn’t dead,” Stiles says, happy to go with pretending he doesn’t have the beginnings of an erection, for once glad to see Derek’s angry eyes.  He makes sure to keep his arms limp to his side, now is not the time for hugs.

Derek is staring at his lips.

So. He’s not angry, he’s turned on.

Stiles looks at Derek’s mouth, pretty and pink and so close, surrounded by a 5’oclock shadow, looks back into Derek’s eyes, daring him to make the first move.

Here, in front of everybody.

Annnd this is when he falls to the floor because Derek lets go.

“Out!” Derek barks.

“Seriously?” Stiles says, getting up and shaking himself off. “Oh my fucking god. That’s it. If you come by my house again I’m telling my dad to shoot you on the spot.”

Derek turns his back to him, the complete and utter asshole. “I don’t want to see any of you before Saturday.”

“Stiles?” Jackson says, his voice incredulous.

“At least you get to come back Saturday.” Stiles walks towards the exit.  Derek can keep his shirt and his gun and even his snacks.

Banished twice in a row! Derek didn’t even use their code word to do it. And Derek was the one rubbing against him. When they’re alone, Derek is always all “oh, Stiles, let me suck your cock,” or “Oh Stiles, I can’t use my words, but every single thing I do means that I looooove you”.   

“Stiles,” Derek says, his voice so full of arrogance. No way is Stiles turning back to hear any of the other orders Derek has in store. Derek is so obviously emotionally stunted that this is not worth it.

At all.

In any way.

It would just be setting himself up for more rejection and misery.  His dad would never have approved of Derek anyways.  The bisexual thing’ll pass, but not dating disreputable criminals.

This is good.  He’s making a good choice.

Oh, fuck it.

Stiles shifts directions. He aims for the chains, wincing at the bloody mess.  He fiddles with the slimy clanking metal until he figures out how it works and closes a manacle around his ankle, making sure that it is above his jeans and not below. That’s just what he needs, for Peter’s blood to seep into a stray cut.

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek says.

If Derek can’t tell, Stiles isn’t gonna point it out. He shrugs. “I just really like your house, dude.”

“Idiot,” Jackson mutters. “Our Alpha prefers this scrawny idiot to us.”

“They’re the ones who are leaving,” Derek says. “I already _want_ you to stay.”

Oh.

Huh.

That’s kinda awesome and he feels stupid, but it’s not like Derek was being particularly obvious. “What about the stay-off-my-lawn, trainings, all that?”

Everyone turns to Derek to await his verdict. “When you’re around, we’ll train outside.”

“Fucking A!” Stiles says.

“Someone kill me now,” Jackson says.

Stiles lifts his arm à la Katniss. “I volunteer!”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackson says.  Stiles doesn’t know who’s more shocked when Derek growls at Jackson. “I mean, what a great idea, Stiles, please kill me whenever you feel like it.”

Oh. Oh, yes.  Sexing up Derek comes with unexpected yet awesome benefits. Still. Best not rub it in when the entire pack has so recently desecrated the corpse of a man much stronger than him.

 Derek walks up to Stiles and kneels at his feet, which is distracting on so many levels. Derek unlocks the chain. “Why don’t we head over to the other side of the room? Isaac, before you go, could you-”

“I’m on it,” Isaac says. “Boyd, grab the mop?”

Derek sort of massages his back while Stiles watches the werewolves efficiently clean the place until it’s spotless. Still looks like the crumbling house will fall down around their heads, but it’s their crumbling house.

Isaac and Derek share a cryptic look and Isaac hands Derek a towel.

“Your jeans, off,” Derek says.

“Right, Peter’s blood.” Stiles shimmies out of his pants behind the shield of the towel, because none of the pack has actually left yet.  He wraps the towel securely around his hips.

They’re all staring at him like he’s- well, they all appear to have reacted differently to the news, but everyone’s reacting all right. From Erica’s impressed to Boyd’s carefully considering to Isaac’s new diffidence.

“If it makes anyone feel better,” Stiles says. “I think Derek’s sex with me makes your pack smarter. Just saying.”

“Ah, what?” Scott says, his eyes clueless, but now healed to a workable puffiness. “Is going on?”

 “More like contact with a human, any human, is good for us,” Jackson says. “If Derek lets me or Scott actually have free time to spend with our girlfriends, we could eat Stiles.”

“No. Nooo.” Stiles shakes his head as sadly as he can, considering HE IS PWNING JACKSON AT LIFE.  Dude, what he said to Danny earlier was such a lie.  Derek is the best, the bestest of all possible boyfriends. “I’m pretty sure it has to be the alpha.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Jackson says.

“Why are you still here? All of you-I still mean except you, Stiles- _leave_ , you have the night off.” Derek doesn’t even wait for everyone to be gone before he kisses him.

Stiles tries to keep it light, the pack doesn’t need to know what kind of power Derek has over him.  The whole chaining himself to Derek’s house already gave it away, so he’s pretty sure he fails miserably. Still, he pulls away first, and of that great act of will he is proud.

Stiles hears more than sees everyone shuffle out. Almost everyone.

“Um Stiles,” Scott says.

“It’s okay, I promise,” Stiles says. “Remember, tell your mom it’s all my fault.”

“K,” Scott says on his way out. “But you need to explain this soon and I somehow have this feeling I’m gonna have to kick Derek’s ass and possibly make sure your dad never finds out or there will be murder which means I’d have to be the alpha.  She’ll never forgive me if I’m the alpha.”

“Sure, bud,” Stiles says, a little distracted here. “But yeah. I’ll call you. Tomorrow?” Derek smiles and oh-so-slowly shakes his head, oh god, oh god. “No. The day after.”

Finally alone, Derek pins him, whispers into his ear, his voice all low and throaty, “Don’t ever do something that stupid again.”

Stiles decides not to let on that threats, implied or otherwise, now work exactly as well as wall shoving. He will keep that info to himself for now. No need for Derek to know extra ways to turn him on, or that his scare tactics aren’t up to par.

“Aww, I missed you too. For the record though, you were way stupider.  I’m your biggest asset- stop laughing! I don’t mean it like that, though I mean it like that too- and with a psychotic uncle on the loose you, you just, we have so many many many things to work on.  We need to find you a new T.V. so we can watch Oprah together. With you taking notes.”

“Uhun. Stiles?”

“Derek?”

Derek kisses him. Soft and slow. Delicately, almost. Stiles feels like a freaken’ flower. A tulip or something. “It’s “more stupid”.”

“Ha, funny. See? Sex with me does make the pack smarter.”

“Impossible.” Derek pulls at Stiles in an awesomely aggressive way and unfashions his belt buckle. “It makes you stupid.”

“Not true. But hey, that’s a sacrifice, mmm, willing, to…”

 

The End


End file.
